
t^ ^.^r^' 14 y^^HOy 14 1899 






-*■ 



3 





CrE.'S. BREWSTER 



COPYRIGHTED 1899 

BY C. E. S. BREWSTER 

AUTHOR AND PUBLISHER, 

MONTROSE, PA. 






5G142 



So tfic '^Poincn of (SlmcZ'ica iv/lo ate patiottf:-/ toifituj 

afona "Si-fiio'^Vcatic^oHic ^Paij,'^ tfii:> fittle, 

Soof} io affzctionai'cCij c'cSicatcP, 



SJiCOf^a CO»>Y. 






Twilight. 

There's a calmness that comes with the twilight 

We feel at no other hour, 
An influence floating aronnd us 

That holds us with mystical power. 

And it steals o'er our spirit as gently 
As a breath from a soft zephyr blown; 

And it brings us such peace and contentment, 
As we sit in the gloaming alone. 

We forget all the cares and the turmoil 

That have crowded our life through the day; 

And Thought goes a roaming in Dreamland, 
Whilst Fancy holds despotic sway. 

And faces come crowding around us 
That long since had passed from our sight; 

But they come to us now in the twilight, 
With the deepening shadows of night. 

And the faces, dim outlined and misty. 
Seem to beckon us back through the years; 

And again we're a child, free and hapi)y. 
Though our eyelids are heavy with tears. 



And v/e wander tlirongli woods as in childhood 
And search for the flowers blooming first, 

E'er the brown waving branches above ns 
Into emerald beauty have burst. 

And we hear the sharp crackle and rustle 
Of twigs and brown leaves 'neath our feet; 

And the fragrance of earth and sweet blossoms, 
Make the charm of our senses complete. 

And we wander again in the meadows 
And search for the strawberries red; 

Whilst tlie butter cups, daisies and clover, 
Nod gracefully over our head. 

Or else in some nook cool and shady 

We're dreaming the hours away; 
Whilst wafted on breeze v/arm and lazy, 

Comes the scent of the nev/ly mown hay. 

And the bobolink skims o'er the grasses 
And pours out his soul in his song; — 

Oh! the days of a summer in childhood. 
How wondrously hapjDy and long! 

And then with our gay young companions 
We walk by the shores of the lake. 

And search neath the leaves of the laurel 
For the tender young winter-greens' sake. 



Or we float on the smootli placid waters, 

And gleefnlly langii, as tlie sound 
Of our voices in lond liaj)x>y chorus 

Make the v/oods witli deep echoes resound. 

And the lilies! those fragrant pond lilies! 

With hearts of the yellowest gold, 
And petals of pure waxy whiteness, 

What a charm for our senses they hold! 

And then in the years that come later, 
We're walking in love's happy dream. 

Till a whispering phantom beside us 
Tells us things are not now what they seem. 

And the faces that crowded our fancy. 
The grave long has claimed for its own — 

They have flown like the years that have vanished, 
And I sit in the gloaming alone. 

But the gloom of the grave and its sadness 
Have lost, o'er our spirit, their power — 

There's a calmness that comes with the twilight 
We feel at no other hour. 



The Last Roll. 

'Tis tlie thickest of the battle, 

And the bullets flying fast, 
Make many a gallant soldier feel 

That moment is his last. 

And the air is thick and heavy 
With the smoke and dnst of fray; 

And the rattle of the muskets 
Fill the stoutest with dismay. 

But above that din of battle. 
And above its roar and hum, 

What is it gives them courage? 
'Tis the beating of the drum. 

And the men are nerved to action 
As they hear that stirring beat; 

Though the earth be strewn with dying 
That have fallen neath their feet. 

And each heart beats high and hopeful 

As that dear familiar roll 
Seems to speak to them of victory, 

As it thrills each manly soul. 



And tliat valiant, little drummer. 

Though but a boy, is brave 
As he who shoulders musket, 

His country's life to save. 

All day, though worn and weary, 

He has kept himself in file- 
Not once has stopped his drumming, 
Himself to rest awhile. 

But hark! the music falters! 

He has fallen in the fight! 
And many a stern old veteran 

Feels a dimness of the sight. 

And as the smoke of battle 

Shuts the sun light from the day: 

So his stroke grows fainter— fainter, 
As his life's blood ebbs away. 

"What can I do to help you?" 

A pitying comrade cries; 
And to his tearful question 

The drummer boy replies: 

"Comrade, you cannot help me; 

I'm beyond the reach of man; 
But pour the bullets at them! 

And I'll drum as best I can." 



And when tlie battle's over 
Tliey find liim white and cold, 

But in those stiffened fingers 
The drumsticks yet, behold. 

And though his weex^ing comrades 
Cannot hear their gentle beat; 

He is drumming for the Angels 
As they walk the golden street. 

And we're sure he's earned the x)laudit 
Of "A Faithful Duty Done," 

That he wears a crown of glory 
Which with honor here he's won. 



Tobacco. 

Young man, beware! In yonder weed 
The pestilence of death doth breed; 

Its subtle poison steals away 
The noblest manhood of the day; 

And many of its thousands slain — 
All may be lost, there is no gain. 



Come! walk with me this filthy street, 
Unlit to tread by christian feet; 

Made loathsome by the foulest weed 
That ever grew from nature's seed, 

Its taint fills all the air around. 
No place of x",urity is found. 

The breath from yonder low saloon 
Is worse than Egypt's fell simoon. 

And yet men deem it blameless, wise, 
To choke our breath, and blind our eyes- 

Ah, yes! These men so coarse and rough 
Delight to see us cough and jDuff. 

Step lightly o'er the pools of juice 
Distilled by m.an to our abuse; 

And whilst distilling loses wealth. 
The power of intellect and health — 

Ah, deep the penalty he pays; 
A paux^er's lot or shortened days. 

And here a savage stands erect 
In paint and tinsel gayly decked; 

His iron hand he keeps outstretched 
To entertain each welcome guest; 

This emblem seems most fit indeed 
For those who use the filthy weed. 



Ah, yes, the sculptor well has wrought, 
For in each line a lesson's taught 

To those who see and read aright, 
The lesson taught by yon vile sight. 

See yonder shaking palsied man! 

See yonder face so pale and wan! 
And breathe the brea,th of this i)oor sot— 

The poison's mixed that he hath got; 
He took the noxious weed at first, 

And then the drink to quench his thirst, 
Ah, terrible the work thus wrought; 

And terrible the lesson taught; 
Yet many heedless pass it by 

And say 'tis not for such as I! 
My will is strong to break the chain, 

It ne'er o'er me such power will gain! 
But when too firmly bound, they find 

The power of habit over mind, 
They cry too late! My friend beware 

How thou art caught within the snare! 
Thinkest thou that love could stoop to sij) 

From yonder stained polluted lij)? 
Aye! Turn away with deep disgust 

And take the weed now if you must; 
Methinks would scarce beguile away 

The scenes we've witnessed here to-day. 



But if percliance the lesson's lost — 

Or tlion liast reckoned not tlie cost — 
One word my friend, before we part; 

Deep may it sink witliin thine heart. 
If tliou wouldst follow out God's i)lan 

And in His image be a man — 
If thou wouldst cleanly be and pure 

And make thy hojDe of Heaven sure; 
Oh, turn thou from that lilthy weed 

Where pestilence of dea.tli doth breed! 
Oh, turn, as from some reptile vile 

That fascinates yet kills the while — 
And thou rnayst never curse the day 

That found thee caught within its sway. 



The Two Conquests. 

On arid plain, 'neath burning sun, 

With flash of steel and boom of gun, 

' Mid dust and smoke, and dying groan 
Of heroes slain like grass that's mown, 

A chieftan stands with sword in hand 
And urges on his fainting band. 

Since early morn they've bravely fought 



And naught but desolation wrought — 
Yet once again he shouts command — 

His courage thrills the little band — 
Thrice beaten back — thrice surging on — 

They gain the wall — the victory's won. 
And loud they shout their chief tan's name 

And loud the victory proclaim. 
Ah, proudly steps that chief tan now, 

Whilst laurels deck the noble brow — 
Nor thinks he of the thousands slain 

On yonder ghastly burning plain. 

A lonely attic, old and bare, 

That gives no comfort, has no care; 
An empty grate — a heap of straw — 

A winter's night that's bleak and raw — 
A wretched man is kneeling there 

In earnest, agonizing prayer — 
The beaded drops are standing now 

On pallid lips and knotted brow — 
His trembling form sways to and fro 

Like broken reeds when storm winds blow; 
And all the burden of his prayer 

Is, "Save me from the tempter's snare." 
From eve till morn he wrestled there, 

With none to see and none to care — 



No noble band to lielp him win 

The conquest over death and sin — 

No noble band! Do I mistake? 

For just as dawn begins to break, 

And when at last the victory's given, 

The Angels shout — there's joy in Heaven. 

Ah, he receives the crown of state 

Who conquers self, not cities great. 



The Doctor's Horse. 

Old Frank lives on a i^ension; 
There's naught for him to do 

But gaze at the skies 

With far off eyes, 
And meditate — and chew. 

He lives like all that's aged 
In days that long are j)ast; 

And things that seem 

Are but a dream 
Of things that do not last. 



13 



And now lie's swiftly flying 
O'er country roads again, 

As the doctor si)eeds 

To the urgent needs 
Of weak and suffering men. 

And now he is homeward plodding 
As slow as a funeral knell; 

For the Doctor's asleep, 

Or in reverie deep, 
As the old horse knows full well. 

And now old Frank is lonesome, 
He's pawing in the stall; 

Then he whinnies low 

For the master's slow, 
Then harks for the master's call. 

But the dear old weary Doctor 
At last has peaceful sleej) 

Where none can molest 

Or break on his rest — 
Or wake from his slumber deep. 

The Doctor's son — Gfod bless him — 
Has thought for old Frank's need; 

Now Frank has rest. 

And the softest nest. 
And the very best of feed. 



H 



All yes, old Frank's in clover; 
There's naught for him to do 

But gaze at the skies 

With far off eyes, 
And meditate — and chew. 



By and By. 

Have you heard of Baby Eda? 

Though not three summers quite, 
She seemed for all the household 

To be the life and light. 

How everybody loved her! 

E'en the men upon the street 
Had a word for "Baby Eda"— 

She seemed so fair and sweet! 

And oh, the wondrous sayings, 
So wise and yet so quaint! 

Not half their childish beauty 
My feeble pen could paint. 

Sometimes God in his mercy 
Sends a blessing for a while, 

That from some poignant sorrow 
Our hearts he may beguile. 



15 



So, as in healtli and beauty 

She flourished every day, 
Another good and noble 

Was fading slow avy'ay. 

And we know no holy angel 

Sent from the God above, 
Could to a suffering mortal 

Lend more of watchful love. 

And she must bring the cushion 

To imt in "Papa's chair;" 
And all her little loleavsures 

With "Papa" she must share. 

And early in the morning 

When just wakened from his rest, 
'Tv/as "Dood morning darling Papa," 

Ah, the words were doubly blessed. 

But at last there came a morning — 
'Twas the Heavenly Father's v/ill — 

When that darling baby's Papa 
In death's arms lay white and still. 

Then the baby's heart was broken, 
And with lips that quivered so, 

Said "He nev'll say dood mornin 
To de baby any mo-o." 



i6 



And when tlie friends liad gathered 
To take their last farewell, 

Of him whom they had honored 
And learned to love so well. 

Then jnst amid the sermon, 

When the last sad rite was near— 

"Only de Baby's Papa" 
Smote upon the startled ear. 

And every heart was melted — 
'Twould turn a heart of stone 

To see that look of anguish, 
And hear that mournful tone. 

And to think that such an infant 
Must learn the depths of woe; 

That our darling little Eda 
Should mourn and sorrow so. 

And oft that dreary winter 
To the window she would go, 

And ask if "Baby's Papa 
Lay neath the cold, cold snow?" 

Then we would tell her "Papa, 
Though buried from our sight, 

Dwelt with the Holy Angels 
Amid the realms of light." 



17 



"But that if God was willing 
And to love Him slie would try, 

We'd go and live witli Papa 
Ui3 in Heaven by and by." 

And often in tlie distance 

She would gaze with longing eye, 
And ask in mournful accents 

If it wasn't "by and by?" 

Oh, the weary months of winter 
"When the heart is filled with woe, 

Only the heart that sorrows, 
Their weariness may know. 

And oh, the weary waiting 

For the ijromised "By and By," 

But for darling little Eda 
The time was drawing nigh. 

One night from out her slumber 
Eda wakened with a scream; 

"Papa's come to get the Baby!" 
People say 'twas but a dream. 

And when the startled mother 

The child would pacify, 
"Papa did come back to baby, 

For I see him," was her cry. 



i8 



And in tlie early morning 

When slie'd searched for him in vain, 
"Papa did come back to Baby — 

Papa's don away adain." 

But in the early spring time 
When the crocus lifts it head; 

And lovely little violets 
Wake from their mossy bed; 

When the woods resound with gladness 
And the hills bright colors show; 

We thought that Baby Eda 
Would forget to sorrow so. 

But neither merry spring time, 
Nor summer's brightest day, 

Could for that darling Baby 
Drive the shadows quite away. 

And often on her little hand 
She'd lean her head and say, 

"Oh, de Baby tannot 'tand it 
Anoder single day." 

"For de Baby is so-o lonesome, 

'Aint it almost by and by? 
Baby 'ants to see her papa;" 

Then would come the long drawn sigh. 



19 



I wonder if lost loved ones 
Do sometimes hover near, 

And by their unseen presence 
Our lonely hearts to cheer. 

Or, if God sometimes in visions 
To his best beloved will show, 

That weal or woe awaits them 
That they His will may knov/. 

For one night in early autumn 
Eda wakes with beaming eye — 

"Papa's come to get de Baby!" 
Oh the Joy in that glad cry! 

Only three weeks of waiting, 
And the baby was at rest; 

And we know a soul so lovely 
God has numbered with the blest. 

And when the death damjD gathered 

Upon that baby's brow; 
"Baby's doin' to see her papa; 

Don't you cry for baby now." 

Oh, those words so softly whispered 
Mamma's breaking heart to cheer; 

It would seem God's holy spirit 
Must be hovering very near. 



And we know for Baby Eda 
There is now a iDerfect day; 

That the choicest liowers of Heaven 
Blossom for her, bright and gay. 

And in the arms of Jesus 
With her papa safe on high, 

Baby Eda Ivnows no sorrow, 
'Tis the i^romised "By and By." 



Restlessness. 

For hours and hours I've lain and tossed 
Till hoi^e is gone and patience lost! 

Oh, why must I this vigil keep, 

Why, oh why, can I get no sleep? 

My poor limbs ache, and my brain's like lead! 

I sometimes think I've a double head! 
Quite sure I am that I suffer for two — 

Oh dear, dear me, what shall I do? 

I've hummed Old Hundred o'er and o'er; 

Counted my fingers ten times or more; 
But alas! these failed me quite — and then 

I told one hundred and back again. 



But hark! What ever's that noise below? 

It's ghosts— or robbers — or worse I know! 
But courage is something that I've no lack — 

0-o-h dear how the chills creep up my back! 

There now it is gone! I guess after all 

It's a cat, or a mouse, or a tly on the wall — 

But one thing is certain, some sleep I must get, 
Or I shall be nervous and iklgety yet. 



Falling Asleep. 

I am floating away into Dreamland; 

Away o'er the shadowy seas; 
Whilst my weary form is lightly fanned 

And kissed by the evening breeze. 

And I'm. tenderly rocked on the billows 
As they sing me a svv^eet lullaby — 

And I nestle my head on the j:)illovv"s, 
And contentedly blissfully sigh. 

All things of this earth that are real. 
Must, I know for a season, be lost; 

Yet relief from their burden, I feel 

Will more than balance the cost, n 



And my sight seemetli dim and uncertain — 
A glimmer — a shadow— a sheen — 

It's the something that formeth the curtain, 
Myself and the unseen between. 

And the low distant music and murmur 
Of voices, my ears seem to fill; 

Like the humming of insects in summer. 
When drowsiness conquers the will. 

And the air seemeth heavy with sweetness 
That is stealing my senses away, 

And I yield up my spirit in meekness, 
I^or the mesmeric influence stay. 



The Settlers' Home. 

A hundred years! As we hear the din 
Of the busy world we're moving in, 

As we're caught in the crowded bustling throng, 
And are borne with the surging tide along — 

It seems a vista deep and wide. 
The past and present to divide. 

But far away o'er that sea of time 
There conies to us in a rythmic rhyme, 

Echoes of voices soft and low 
That tell of the times of long ago. 



23 



Tliey tell of a forest, trackless, wide. 
Of clangers that crowd on eitlier side; 

Where wild beasts lurk with stealthy tread. 
Or crouch in branches over head; 

Whilst the creaking tree tops saw and sigh, 
And sing them a weird lullaby. 

No beaten track the traveller sees; 

His only guide the blazoned trees; 
As he toils his weary way along, 

Or joins in merry laugh and song. 
Perhaps he wakes the startled deer, 

That quickly springs from the thicket near; 
The partridge drumming on yonder log. 

Or the dismal croak from a distant bog; 
A deer jmrsued by baying hound 

May cross his ]3ath with a mighty bound, 
When the flintlock musket speeds a ball ~ 

And the noble creature's doomed to fall; 
Then the great white owl in the home-tree nest 

Cries who! who! who disturbs my rest? 
So, toiling on till the fading light 

Foretells the deepening shades of night. 

But now. Oh joy to the weary eye! 
They catch a glimpse of the sunset sky; 



24 



Like boj^s tliey laugli and shout and sing 

At the sight of a lovely crystal spring; 
Then nine strong men draw gravely round 

A fire that's built on open ground, 
And each with a hungry zest partake 

Of their "injun" bread and venison steak; 
No feast of kings is half so good 

As this humble meal in the lonely wood. 

But hark! That cry from a distant hill! 

Now their j)ulses quiver, and throb and thrill! 
Ah, listen now! 'tis the answering cry 

From the wooded hillside nearer by — 
And yet again — now far, now near, — 

'Tis the gathering pack whose voice they liear- 
Ah, brave stout hearts by the camp fire glow 

The meaning of that shrill cry well know. 

Beyond the embers burning low 

A panther's eyes may gleam and glow; 
So a watch is set, and through all the night 

A fire's kept burning clear and bright; 
And with boundless trust in the Gfod of all 

Who keepeth a watch o'er great and small, 
The white man rests in the forest wild, 

And sleei3s the sleei? of a little child. 



25 



And then in the early morning's beam, 

The woodman's ax swift catch the gleam; 
And the forest monarchs bow and fall 

At the hand of the monarch over all; 
'Tis weary toil from day to day, 

From early morn till even gray; 
Then here and there a clearing stands, 

And a cabin raised by sturdy hands. 

Time passes by, and we hear the sound 

Of a si:)inning wheel turned swiftly round; 
As stepping forward and back again 

The good wife spins the fleecy skein; 
And we hear the click of the wooden reel 

As the yarn is wound from the spinning wheel- 
Then the creaking swifts turn slowly round 

As the yarn is doubled again, and wound — 
And now the wheel is put away. 

She'll twist the yam some other day. 

So, singing soft by the firelight's glow 

The dear old hymns of long ago. 
As the stocking grows from top to heel, 

With a wondrous magic swift and real; 
And the baby's cradle, rough and quaint, 

Creaks back and forth with loud comjjlaint. 



26 



The settler's gun liangs o'er the door — 
There's bear and venisons a goodly store; 

Perhaps the good man's been to-day 
To the mill that's many miles away 

And the samp that bubbles upon the crane 
Has just been ground from the golden grain. 

The good man sits in the corner near, 

His face aglow with honest cheer; 
Or bowed in sober earnest thought 

On the works of God as for him they are wrought. 

The baby now is sleeping sound 

And mother has knit to the seam around; 

So now she puts her knitting by 
And cuts a venison steak to fry; 

And deftly mixes the corn-meal cake 
She iDuts on a board by the fire to bake. 

The furnishiugs here are plain and few — 

There's a table of pine and a chair or two; 
The high post bed in the corner stands, 

Made plump and smooth by skillful hands; 
The cat sleeps sound on the bear skin rug 

Close up by the chimney corner snug — 
Old Tige with head stretched on his paws 

Seems studying deep on nature's laws 



27 



As with comical turn of liis soft brown eye. 
He watclies the sparks up the chimney fly. 

The cake on the hearth is turned and browned, 

The broiling steak sheds a fragrance round — • 
The pewter platters burnished bright 

Catch an added gleam from the glowing light; 
Ah, the joy, the comfort, the cheer, the glow 

Of a hickory blaze we ne'er shall know! 
And that a little room so rough and bare, 

Holds a joy and peace not found elsewhere, 

Tlie blessing said and supper begun, 

They speak of the work they each ha^-e done — 
Oi the nev/s he's heard in town that day — 

Of their neighbors, perhaps ten miles away; 
Of the friends they've left in their native town; 

Of the beauties of wife's new home-spun gown — 
Of the many trials through which they've j^assed — 

AYhen the com was low and they had to fast; 
Of the land that's cleared, of the land that's tilled; 

Of the meeting house they hope to build; 
Of their joys — their cares — their hopes — their fears, 

Of the work to do in after years; 
But they never dream that a toil-worn hand 

Shall mould the fate of a mighty land; 



38 



That an influence true, and deep, and strong, 
Shall grow and spread through the years along, 

And through all time their names shall stand 
The fairest and noblest in all the land. 



The Farmer's W/fe, 

OR 

A THOUGHT FOR WOMAN. 

She brewed and broiled in the morning; 

And scrubbed and scoured and swept 
In every nook and corner, 

The neatest house ever kept. 

She washed all the children's faces 
And put up their dinners for school; 

Heard Jennie recite all her spelling, 
And Katie, that horrid old rule. 

Then she tied up their bonnets and aprons 
And sent them away for the day; 

With a sigh of relief, "She thanked goodness 
The children were out of the way!" 

Then she fed all the chickens and turkeys, 
And the hen that she set yesterday; 

And the one she iDut under a barrel 
Because of her obstinate way. 



29 



But with never a thought of the beauties 
Of that glorious bright summer day, 

She hurried back to the kitchen 
Where her kettle was boiling away. 

Then she ironed and baked until noon-time, 
And then there's the dinner to get, 

"For men folks are always so hungry 
And dinner was never late yet." 

And so this woman was busy. 

And busy as busy could be, 
From five o'clock in the morning 

Till the clock on the mantle struck three. 

And she thought of the homely old saying 
"A woman's work never is done;" 

As she took up the basket of mending 
That yesterday only begun. 

The "men folks" have taken their nooning 
In the shade of the wide-spreading trees. 

Cracked jokes — talked politics over — 
Reclined on the grass at their ease. 

And now in the cornfield together 

They merrily clatter away; 
For cheerful companions in labor 

Makes hoeing seem only child's play. 



30 



Tlie woman alone in the farmhouse 

Seeks not to be happy and gay, 
With only a thought for her labor 

She wearily stitches away. 

She knows by the brook in the meadow 

Are beds of the daintiest cress; 
That shadows are cool in the orchard — 

And she's "Glad there is one stocking less. 

No pleasure, no rest, and no sunshine, 
No food for the soul or the mind — 

To give all your life to your labor. 
Oh woman! how foolish and blind! 

For it's worry and hurry at morning. 

And worry and hurry at noon; 
And her day' s work is never accomplished 

For night comes upon her too soon. 

The lamp that is ever kept burning 

Soon burns all its fuel away; 
The stream that ne'er draws at the fountain 

Soon dries, and is vanished for aye. 

Oh woman, take rest from your labor! 

Throw patching and darning away! 
Go out in God's beautiful sunshine 

And draw from its life whilst you may. 



31 



For there's sunsliine along witli tlie shadows 

In every land under the snn; 
There are joys to be had for the seeking 

With every duty that's done. 

So whether we plod or we hurry 

Along life's wearisome way, 
Let us look for the sweetest blossoms 

And gather them whilst we may. 




Montrose, Pa., 

Independent Republican Print, 

1S99. 



LIBRftRY OF CONGRESS 



015 861 975 1 



